


Thy Right Eye (Offends Me)

by iaj



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Gen, basically the author's daydreams, good ol fashioned shanks, inspired by Waterford being genuinely evil in 2x10, it's only references to canonical non-con btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaj/pseuds/iaj
Summary: "Once she had it, she almost didn’t know what to do with it. This was power - a single, sharp piece of metal."





	Thy Right Eye (Offends Me)

Moira had been clear in her instructions. _Take the top off the toilet. There’ll be a metal bar holding the floating piece on, see? You can yank that out by wiggling it off the attachment. Boom. A metal object - and the end is pretty sharp. Just make sure to adjust it once it’s off so the toilet doesn’t overflow if you don’t want to get caught._  
  
The toilet piece was probably the only metal thing that the Aunts hadn’t thought of a way to replace yet. It was too hard to manufacture plastic or something else for them, nowadays. At least, that’s what June had to assume, since hers hadn’t been removed. And since she’d directly been involved in Moira’s failed first escape, she’d probably be at the top of the list to remove any toilet metal from.  
  
June’s fingers shook as she lifted the heavy cap off the lid. Her thighs hurt, her stomach hurt, her wrists hurt. She felt stupid for being surprised at the violence she’d experienced that evening. She got too comfortable in her role, forgot her place. Felt that pregnancy made her immune to punishment. They’d always find a way, here. Especially Fred fucking Waterford. And Serena viewed her as nothing more than a glorified, mouthy incubator. An inconvenience.  
  
Had Serena felt good about it? Had she felt like she was putting June in her place? Did she feel even a little bit of guilt, for holding down another woman to be sexually assaulted?  
June fished the metal out of the tank of water, and yanked it hard. It came apart, and the toilet hissed a little as water started to run. She reached in and adjusted it until it stopped. The metal she put down beside her, as she quickly returned the lid to the cistern.  
  
Once she had it, she almost didn’t know what to do with it. This was power - a single, sharp piece of metal.  
  
She could kill herself. The baby would die before they found her. Serena Joy could go choke. June’s baby would only ever know love, inside its mother.  
  
Although there was no need to rush into that decision. No matter what she did, really, it would end the same, as long as it was totally unforgivable.  
  
June found herself moving almost without thinking about it. She was wearing a nightdress without sleeves, so she simply held the sharp metal piece on the inside curve of her arm. It was hidden, if nobody looked closely. Then she carefully opened her door, and looked down the hallway.  
  
There was no light on under the doors of Serena’s rooms. There was a light on in the Commander’s study, and the door was ajar. June crept close, and looked cautiously through the gap. It was wide enough for a person, just barely; inside the air appeared smoky. She leaned closer, and saw the back of the Commander’s head, smoking a cigar.  
  
She held her breath as he leaned forward, and turned a record player on. But he leaned back without turning, continuing.  
  
_A post-coital smoke_ , she thought reflexively. The metal felt both cold and hot her in her grip.  
  
She touched the door lightly, and it opened further with a soft whoosh hidden by the music. The carpets muffled her bare feet as she padded forward.  
  
But shortly as she entered, Waterford turned. He looked annoyed, but surprised. June figured he expected to be avoided, after what he did. As if she had the power to avoid him - she was given breaks from him, at his leisure. Nothing more.  
  
“Why are you in here?” he asked.  
  
There was only one way to appeal to Fred Waterford - pretend to eat up his every word, bow to his enormous ego. He made June sick. But he always did.  
  
“I wanted to apologise,” June said.  
  
“For the dramatics?” he replied.  
  
June wanted to say, _I’m sorry for what I’m about to do_ , or something equally dramatic. Maybe, _I'm sorry that you made me do this._ June wanted to win this like some kind of superhero, some dramatic redemption. But Gilead didn’t allow fairy tales or superheroes.  
  
Instead, she said, “Yes. I’m… I’m sorry for the dramatics.”  
  
He turned away. “Get out and close the door,” he said. His back was to her, as he perused his cigars.  
  
June turned, stepped, and closed the door. She held perfectly still, heard him sigh and turn the music up a tad.  
  
The music chorus kicked in as she jabbed the metal to his throat. It was a hymn, one of Serena Joy’s old singing tracks. Waterford tried to reach up, and she pushed it further. Blood trickled in a small line down from the point of it.  
  
“Now, now,” he said, in an uncharacteristically anxious voice. “You know what will happen if you don’t stop here, Offred.”  
  
June’s hand shook. His blood was hot. He was wound tight, and anxious, and not moving. Good. Let him feel fear. But she almost had to laugh.  
  
What could they do to her more? She had already been tortured, beaten, raped, had her child taken from her, and about to have a second one taken as well.  
  
And she had already started this path. Her punishment would not be more lenient if she stopped here.  
  
Her arm moved in a jerky movement, and Waterford made a noise - half gasp, half wet gurgle - as the metal pushed through his neck. He kicked out, and the contents of his coffee table clattered to the ground.  
  
Perhaps if he didn’t tend to be so violent, someone would come check at such a noise. But Rita wouldn’t dare.  
  
He didn’t stop moving for a long time. Grasping, reaching, trying to hold onto his throat as the blood absolutely poured out around him. He looked at her, searching her for remorse, for fear, for anything. June couldn’t tell what her own expression was. She couldn’t even identify what she was feeling. Relief? There was no relief in this man’s death. He would be replaced, by the system he himself had helped build, with another equally abhorrent man. His death meant nothing to her.  
  
June hands were covered to the elbow in fresh, hot blood.  
  
The baby kicked, and she placed a hand over her stomach. It left a small, perfect, red handprint. Not the long, delicate fingers of Serena on a baby she was planning to steal; not the Commander’s disgusting hands, touching without regard. June’s small, square handprint.  
  
“We’re leaving, baby,” June whispered. She exited and crossed the hall went to the Commander’s dressing room. She had never been in there, but he often smelled of soap and cologne when he exited; to her relief, there was a large sink with beard and scented products around it. The Commander's discarded clothes from earlier lay on the floor, and when June picked them up, she realised these were the clothes he had worn earlier in the evening when...  
  
It was foul, but it was all she had. She dressed herself up in the pants and blazer, with the belt carefully hiding tucked fabric to make it appear to fit; she’d rolled the top end of her pants 4 times to make the hems short enough. Her stomach was large, but the male cut made her look more like a rotund man than a pregnant woman, from what she could see in the mirror behind the sink.  
  
She then found a simple newsboy hat, hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and tucked her hair up beneath it. It would have to do.  
  
This would be her last escape attempt. June was quite sure that attempting to smuggle a baby out would result in a death penalty, if not something worse.  
  
June turned and exited the dressing room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She opened the Commander's study door just enough to enter, closing it behind her as quietly as she could.  
  
His eyes were still open, blankly staring at the ceiling. The same way June had stared, after his attentions on her; absent, cold, and dead.  
  
June stood over him and leaned down. She pulled the now-warm metal shard from his neck with a slick, wet noise, and wiped it on the carpet. Once clean, she slipped it in her pocket.

After a second thought, she reached down and grabbed his hip holster; his gun and ID pass were there. Though it didn't match her, perhaps she'd be lucky - they'd never actually inspected Moira's pass when she had escaped as an Aunt.  
  
Time to go.

**Author's Note:**

> My dream end of season 2 involves Commander Waterford being shanked. This is how I envisioned June doing it.
> 
> The Serena singing thing is a novel reference. In the novel her old occupation was a gospel singer on television, I believe. I like to believe that since there's no evidence to the contrary, Serena Joy in the TV series can probably sing and perhaps did a couple concerts in her youth.


End file.
